All Delete
by Anatomic
Summary: After the game, Dave receives a small gift from his element; whenever he dies, he doesn't. Although his body decays, his consciousness remains with him as he is constantly reborn in an extremely dull and bullshit cycle.


_{ All Delete }_

After the game, the participants all received gifts from their 'elements'; a parting gift of forever. They were minor, and all the four beta children had accepted that, easily. Being the knight, and withholding the aspect of time, never had he realized it to be imprinted within the depths of his being and consciousness. A cruel, twisted reminder – bent metaphorically, almost unrecognizable.

The gift, as cliché as it seemed, turned out more to be a parasite of sorts. A horrible burden, Dave had considered it to be; the gift of immortality.

Well, technically. After time, when his body decays and when one would expect to die, he would be reborn into another life.

He wasn't sure if it was an endless cycle – Dave sure hoped that it wouldn't be so. One life was enough – with John, Rose and Jade and bro - a life worth, needing, deserving of memoir.

When he had been borne once more, he was once again thrust into the usual, dull drone of aging, expectations and bullshit. Dave, having already experienced a lifetime, found everything to be redundant and without meaning; finding minimal joy with neither the hobbies he had pertained previously, nor any spark of interest with what was now.

Everything was different, and every familiar face was gone, having faded earlier into the abyss.

He hated it; he despised, he loathed his current predicament with every cell of his body. His hate was so great that he wouldn't have been surprised if he had been combusted with all the anguish, frustration and grief that swelled within him. He wanted to remember; they were special. He needed to.

But what cruel a thing the world was.

He started off with a different family and as years passed and his yearning for his past life faded into a dull throbbing within his dead set chest. There were no trolls, no action.

Just…humans.

With their snazzy equipment; bric' a bracs of various materials. Oh, look at that there; shiny!

And yet, despite all of his loathing, when the time came, and the thought came, Dave found himself to be afraid of death at the same while. Or rather, perhaps not death.

Just what came after.

Which is to say, something he had no clue of – besides the theory of darkness and absolute nothing and fuck did that scare him. He wasn't a believer, of any deity, so yeah. Darkness.

And yet the pain's still there – it's fucking hilarious (with the humour of someone being brutally murdered) that he realized perhaps there was something more going on with him and John, in one of those crazy thought provoking nights with people drinking the pain away or someshit. Something that maybe would've made everything right but being the ignorant dickfuck he – they both were, the chance was lost into infinity.

And yet here he was. Dave fucking Strider, standing on the roof of a rundown, nostalgic apartment, looking up at the stars and space as if he was the only one in the world.

Though in all technicality…

Perhaps he was.

As the repetition of life and death rolls over, he was closed off from the entire world; the show that must go on. Trapped within the cogs and mechanics of his own mind, his musings travel to dangerous territory – of death once more. And you know, one night, he thought;

Maybe it was the fear, the phobia stopping him from permanent degeneration.

Him stopping himself from fading into oblivion, regardless of the desiderata to move on at the same time – irony at its finest. He could appreciate that. Except he didn't.

Because it was fucking stupid.

The situation, not Irony.

Irony was God. How dare you insinuate such a thing, scum.

But yeah, back on track. Perhaps that was the answer. Maybe if he was to get over such a fear…

Perhaps then.

Just four Hundred years later.

The universe finds Dave sitting yet again upon where an old apartment stood, except now a dust worn crevice. Clutching at his crimson cloak and pulling it closer to his body, Dave smiled. He fucking hated the colour red.

During the centuries he had accomplished minimal things; which, ignoring the burrs to society and his extreme lack of contribution, so lacking it was possibly going onto a negative scale (diving straight up into the depths of hell), it seemed as if he had finally conquered his extremely lacklustre fear of Death (no fuck you, just what came after). Or so he had been telling himself for approximately twenty four decades, however to no avail.

But as his bottom numbs upon the hard, copper dusted ground and as his clear red eyes gaze down upon the dead of stars and as cold winds weave through his platinum blond hair, an unusual sense of peace overwhelms him. As the ambience of nature override his ears, he slowly strode and stood upon a rock, looking up at the ants and dust.

Tired of the repetition of warm colours present, everywhere, Dave shut his eyes, frustrated.

The world was dead without blue.

And his memories swarmed; a long created muddled mess of so many dreams ,delusions and hopes and probably hallucinations from all the drugs he took maybe okay that doesn't fucking- NEVER the fuck mind. It's just all that mess; a labyrinth of bullshit and he can't figure two from one, or if one was two or if one and one was two and if so perhaps two may be one, but one cannot be two and two had fucking sex and a child and divorced or maybe two mayhap participated in a game in some life or some shit and was gay gay homo with a fucking handsome dork anD NEVER ACTED ON SHIT BECAUSE OF HOW FUCKING STUPID HE Was but that could have just been his imagination and he doesn't fucking know.

Because it's been four hundred years which was

More than enough

For.

Tears.

To.

Dry.

But not memories to fade but he doesn't fucking know it because of all that timey whimey and revival and shit. Where there's this cray thing where if normal people try to revive into someone new HAHA THE JOKE'S ON THEM BECAUSE THEY'RE CAMPED BY THIS GUY CALLED DEATH, fucking over powered shit but he, DAVE FUCKING STRIDER HAS TO ENDURE LIKE THE PRO stripper whore he was.

But that's beside the fucking point jesus fuck did he get off tangent. The point was that he was sorta maybe possibly ready to die or something like that. Die for real, and not get revived into an ever more piece of shit world.

A thousand years later.

An old, blond-grey haired man stood on a dusty, crusted ground. You know the one. The one that was a place a thousand years ago (Some shitty apartment with actual inhabitants).

Once again and wearing red, he slowly sat down; face cringing at the strain it took. He tossed his head back and leant against a shard of dirty rock without a care and slowly

Closed

His

Eyes.

Mouth hanging open ever so slightly. No statement was made. No promise of fearlessness.

Just a dull thrum of black.

In a time of his own, Dave watched John enter the void.

And so he had followed.

_Game Over_


End file.
